


Fighting Shape

by AuditoryCheesecake



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian's Gonna Get Buff, M/M, Minor Sera/Dagna, Modern AU, One Night Stand, Pining, meet cute, no magic, retail hell, terrible puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 08:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12032538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuditoryCheesecake/pseuds/AuditoryCheesecake
Summary: After a one night stand, Dorian doesn't expect to see Bull ever again. In fact, he does his best to put the whole evening out of his mind. That's rather challenging when Bull winds up being a volunteer at the gym Dorian goes to-- and it gets harder (pun absolutely not intended), when Bull continues to be unforgivablyfriendly.





	Fighting Shape

**Author's Note:**

> Art for this fic was created by two wonderful people!!! Sorellaerba [ (Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorellaerba/pseuds/sorellaerba) [ Tumblr](http://sorellaerba.tumblr.com/)) and Kamineo ([Tumblr](http://kamineo.tumblr.com/)) They're both so excellent and I feel so lucky that they chose my story to illustrate!! :D

Dorian had been having trouble sleeping since he’d come to Ferelden. 

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a new problem, but the changes in his life were certainly exacerbating it. When compounded by long hours at the Cinnabon stand in the Frostbacks Mall (the _only_ place where he’d even landed an interview), the uncomfortable pullout couch that was his “as long as he needed it” and “as long as he didn’t mind sharing Dagna’s extra room with the long-term observational experiments”, and the strange sounds those experiments sometimes made at two in the morning, it felt like he was a bit more sleep-deprived than usual.

“It’s the stress,” Dagna told him, nodding wisely. 

Sera grinned at him. “Y’know what’s good for stress?”

“I didn’t think elfroot was legal down here--”

"You need to get laid." She stared seriously at him across Dagna’s rickety dining table.

Dorian stared right back. "I really don't think you can help with that, Sera."

"Not _me_ , you tit, but there's a bar, yeah? A bar and a band and cover's just two sovs tonight. We were going to go anyways, right Widdle? But you could come along. Or whatever."

And why shouldn't he? He could afford two sovereigns and maybe a drink or two... "how much are the drinks?"

"Beer's cheap," Dagna chirped, tapping away at her phone.

"And there's people there who'll buy you something, for sure. Men-type people. It’s our sort of bar."

"Maker be praised," Dorian said caustically. "You're not trying to set me up with anyone in particular, are you? It's not that I don't trust you, Sera, it’s just that I don't really trust your judgement."

"Come off it, you arse. Let's just go dance, yeah? And if _someone_ buys you a drink, then you know you've still got the shine."

 

Dorian _did_ still have "the shine," thank you very much. And he did get a drink. Two drinks, in fact, from a tall man with delightful horns and a terrible smirk. Dagna gave him a thumbs up before Sera pulled her away.

The Iron Bull was tall and scarred, had a deep voice, and leaned on the bar and looked Dorian up and down with one sharp grey eye. Dorian was familiar with that look; he relished it, he even encouraged it. He was practically obligated to return it. 

But no matter how much Dorian flirted (and it was quite a bit) Bull didn’t want to hurry through their drinks and into some dark corner. He wanted to sip his bright pink whatever-it-was and _talk_.

The music was loud and they had to stand quite close together, and even when Dorian looked up at Bull through his lashes and put a hand on Bull’s broad, warm chest, all he got was another smile and Bull leaning a little closer to talk into Dorian’s ear. That, and an eyeful of bright pink shirt.

But Dorian was nothing if not intrepid and adaptable. He smiled back, and talked more, and refused to feel like he should have been blowing the Iron Bull in the bathroom by now, or even already done and on his way.

Instead, he introduced Bull to Sera and Dagna, and they all wound up at a table off to the side of the dance floor, talking about their lives and homes and friends and things that Dorian wasn't sure he’d have shared if he hadn't been at least a little drunk. He didn't regret sharing them, per se, but his boarding school hijinks tended to focus more on dark closets and almost getting kicked out than on pranking teachers or chemistry class mishaps or the Qun version of Tevinter’s JROTC.

When Sera and Dagna went to the bathroom (and who knew whether that was actually where they were going) Dorian turned to Bull over his recently-acquired martini and asked, "do you do this often?"

Bull raised his more mobile eyebrow. "Don't you mean ‘come here often?’"

"No." Dorian didn't. "I mean, do you really just go to clubs to pick up men and then spend half an hour talking to their roommates?"

"Well," Bull took a sip of his newest pink concoction. "Not just guys. But yeah, sort of. I try to avoid sleeping with assholes, and talking usually helps figure that out in advance.”

Dorian considered this. It seemed like rather a lot of work, to be honest.

When he realized Dorian wasn’t going to say anything, Bull continued. “I was going to ask if you wanted to come over to my place, but I wanted to get to know you first. That a crime?"

"Not here," Dorian said, and shrugged at Bull's frown. "It's new to me, though. I haven’t scared you off yet?”

Bull laughed. "Do I seem scared?"

Dorian made a show of examining him. "No, I suppose not."

“Good.” Bull leered a little. That was only fair, of course. 

“All right,” Dorian said. “In the interest of getting to know each other, what do you do? For a living, I mean.”

Bull wiped at the ring of water Dorian’s glass left on the table. “I’m a personal trainer. You?”

That seemed like the funniest thing in the world to him. “That’s perfect!” Dorian laughed. “I spend all day convincing people to eat massive amounts of sugar, and you convince them to stay healthy.”

“You’re a baker?” Bull guessed.

“In the loosest sense of the term. I work at a Cinnabon in a mall. I don’t do much actual baking, per se. Just heating things up and arranging them attractively.” He grinned into his cup, then up at Bull. “It’ll never work between us, I’m sorry-- we’re diametrically opposed, agents of combative forces--”

“A regular old Romeo and Juliet story,” Bull agreed, grinning too. “We’ll have to meet in secret. Can’t let anyone know about our forbidden love.”

“Dagna’s studying materials engineering. That’s sort of like an apothecary, right? She can pass along our messages.” 

“The real question,” Bull said, putting his elbows on the table, “is who’s Romeo, and who’s Juliet?”

Dorian leaned forward too, feeling extremely conspiratorial. “I’ve climbed a balcony or two in my time.”

Bull grinned at him, and caught Dorian’s hand in his own. Their faces were very close, Dorian noticed, and the music had gotten quieter. He didn’t move away. Bull leaned closer still, until his lips were against Dorian’s ear. Definitely close enough to feel Dorian shiver. “What do you think?” he whispered. “Wanna climb mine?”

Dorian laughed so hard he almost spilled Bull’s drink over both of them, but he still didn’t move away.

 

Bull’s apartment was much nicer than Dagna’s. Possibly because he wasn’t a grad student. Its windows looked out over a sweet little park, and the walls were decorated with art that even Dorian found tasteful.

Not that he had much time to asses the paintings. For all that he’d been downright gentlemanly in the taxi--that he’d payed for-- Bull wasn’t subtle. As soon as the door was closed, he had Dorian pressed up against it.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said, grinning down at Dorian.

Dorian smirked back and tugged at the collar of Bull’s shirt. “Please do.” 

Bull kissed like he wanted nothing else in that moment, like every ounce of his not-inconsiderable being was focused wholly on Dorian. It was frankly overwhelming. Bull’s lips were hot against his own, soft and thorough. He tugged on Bull’s shirt, pulling him closer still. Bull leaned over him, holding him still with a hand on the back of his neck.

Dorian broke the kiss and forced his eyes open. He could feel Bull brush a loose hair out of his face, hands warm on his skin. The look on Bull’s face was sweet and intimate, and Dorian couldn’t deal with it.

Instead he focused on unbuttoning Bull’s shirt, sucking lightly at the joint of his neck. Bull’s hands roamed over Dorian’s back and up under his button-down. He had the good sense not to pull on it, though. Instead, he ran his fingers over Dorian’s skin, his touch almost too light.

Dorian squirmed and grabbed Bull’s arm. “That _tickles_ ,” he accused.

“Sorry.” he didn’t look very sorry.

“I suppose I might be persuaded to forgive you,” Dorian said, not moving his hand off of Bull’s bicep. It was quite a nice one, after all. “But only if you do something to make up for it.”

“Like a blowjob?” Bull suggested, hands sliding down Dorian’s back again. “I’m pretty good at those.”

Dorian bit his lip. “Promises, promises.” Reluctantly, he stepped around Bull and knelt to untie his shoes.

Bull chuckled, then kicked off his own boots and walked barefoot into the apartment. 

Dorian followed. “Where to?”

“I’ve got a couch, a bed, a chair-thing my friend Krem keeps calling a chaise lounge, take your pick.” 

Dorian pretended to deliberate. “Oh, bed, I suppose, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Through here.” Bull grinned at him, and led the way down a short hallway. “There’s a bathroom connected, too. You want anything to drink?”

“Aren’t you a gracious host?” Dorian shut the door behind them. “Maybe later.”

“Something on your mind?” Bull asked, with a terrible approximation of an innocent expression.

Dorian pulled off his shirt and turned to pull at Bull’s as well. “I might be hoping you’ll kiss me again.”

That made Bull smile, and Dorian couldn’t help but grin up at him until Bull did finally kiss him, walking Dorian backwards until his knees hit the side of the bed. He was strong, strong enough that Dorian tipped over, falling back onto the mattress without meaning to. But Bull was there a moment later, leaning over him and stroking big hands down the length of Dorian’s body.

Dorian pulled him closer, mouthing at the side of his neck, and felt Bull laugh. That, he knew, was a sound he wanted to hear again. 

He reached down with one hand, skimming over Bull’s skin, tracing the curve of his hip and over the small of his back. Bull kissed him again while Dorian explored the way his muscles moved under his skin, how he moaned softly when Dorian pulled at his lip with his teeth.

He kept his other hand on Bull’s chest, lightly scraping his nails across his skin. Bull shuddered when Dorian brushed his nipple, moaning into his mouth. Dorian did it again, and Bull shifted over him, half-kneeling, and bent his head to deepen the kiss.

It seemed to go on forever. The hot pressure of Bull’s mouth on his own, the feeling of Bull’s fingers in his hair, the way Bull’s body covered his-- almost touching. Dorian sank into the sensations, then surfaced, breathing hard.

“I want to--” he began, and Bull stopped moving to let him speak. He stayed close, and Dorian closed his eyes. He searched for the right words. “I think we could-- can we maybe--”

“I wanna suck you off now,” Bull said. “How does that sound?”

Dorian nodded, grateful to have the decision made for him. He could go on kissing Bull forever, he thought, but it wouldn't be the best idea. He nodded again, grinning breathlessly up at Bull.

“Okay, awesome.” Bull didn’t move for another long moment, then kissed the tip of Dorian’s nose. It was so unexpected and absurd that Dorian had to choke back a hysterical giggle. Bull, in the process of sliding backwards off the bed, chuckled too.

Dorian propped himself up on his elbows and watched as Bull slipped into the bathroom. He left the door open. “Do you like strawberry-lime or cherry better?” he called.

“For what?” Dorian wriggled out of his clothes, and tossed them on top of a nearby chair.

“Lube.” Bull stuck his head around the doorframe. I haven’t got any flavored condoms, though.”

“What shocking oversight,” Dorian teased as he settled himself on Bull’s bed, nearly sinking into the mountain of pillows at the head. “Cherry, if it’s all the same to you? Lime sounds… awful, actually.”

“Yeah, it’s not the best invention out there.” Bull grinned and came back towards him. Dorian smirked. He knew he looked good, and the way Bull paused, eyes raking over him, was positively gratifying.

When Bull climbed back onto the bed, Dorian kissed him again, just once. Bull lingered, then moved down along Dorian’s chest. His breath was hot where it brushed Dorian’s skin, and he took his time, finding the spots that made Dorian squirm and giggle, the places that made him gasp.

The anticipation was almost embarrassingly erotic. He found himself shivering under Bull’s hands and lips, even when he did nothing more than kiss the inside of Dorian’s thigh. It wasn’t that he was overly gentle-- his hands were firm and sure, almost heavy on Dorian’s skin-- but he was slow and methodical. Confident, which had always been a weakness of Dorian’s.

Usually, he found that “confident” became “domineering” far too quickly, but Bull seemed to walk the line with ease. Part of it simply had to be that it had been such a long time for Dorian. He was aware of how desperate he must sound, panting for breath as Bull did nothing more than move his hands over Dorian’s body.

When he managed to open his eyes, though, Bull looked just as intent, just as focused. “What do you like best?” he asked, and Dorian made a helpless noise. “What do you want?”

Dorian couldn’t imagine wanting much more than to touch Bull as well, but he settled for pulling him into another kiss.

Then he let Bull hold him down with one hand and work the other over his cock until he practically saw stars. He came with his hand over his mouth so that he didn’t say anything foolish, eyes screwed tight and heart hammering.

It wasn’t fair, he thought, that he’d have to leave in the morning-- or sooner. Not fair at all, he thought as he knelt over Bull and pressed his mouth against his chest, his stomach, his thighs, that he’d never see Bull again.

He watched Bull’s face and wished that this was something that he could hold onto.

He didn’t let himself kiss Bull again, even when he fell asleep wanting to. It was never a good idea to get too attached.

 

Sera was wrong about one thing: getting laid didn’t actually help Dorian sleep any better. Oh, he’d slept fine in Bull’s bed, all tired out and delightfully sore, but once he was back on Dagna’s couch, he was back to his old habits immediately. In particular, the nightmares.

He’d had them since... well, since the events they were about. He wished he could call them overwrought, what with all the blood and desperate pleading, but they were painfully true to life.

The only new element was the masked strangers coming in the middle of the night, bundling him into the back of a van, driving until they reached Qarinus and delivering him into the clutches of his father. That, at least, seemed ridiculous enough to laugh at. Later, maybe, when it wasn’t so dark.

It was a little after five in the morning. Not too early to get up, really. Dorian scrubbed a hand over his face and stared at the ceiling. He’d moved away. He’d very much like to move _on_ now, please and thank you.

It stuck with him all day long. He made coffee and brushed his teeth, and thought he saw a sneaking shadow in the space behind the bathroom door. He pulled on the terrible polyester polo shirt that he was legally obligated to wear to work and imagined the grasping hands from his dream, around his biceps, across his mouth. He rode the bus to the mall and clocked in and couldn’t help but look at every stranger with suspicion. He ended the day even more of a nervous wreck than he’d begun it.

Worse than the dream itself or the painful tension in his body was knowing how easily it could become real. He was, frankly, defenseless. 

If someone was truly determined to take him back, he wouldn’t be able to stop them. Legally, he hung in a terrible limbo while his underfunded immigration case officer did battle with Imperium lawyers, backed by Pavus money. And physically-- well. Theoretical physics degrees were not known for their strenuous training regimen. He’d be surprised to fend off a moderately angry nug.

Dorian had never really seen the point of working out if it wasn’t for aesthetic reasons-- though he certainly appreciated other men’s efforts. But even then it had always seemed a bit inefficient. Why focus on expending calories when it was easier and took less time to simply limit intake? He had papers to write, parties to go to; who had time for things like that?

There was more than one way to look like an Altus. Dorian had chosen the least arduous somewhat by default. He cared about his appearance, certainly, but only in a defensive way. Project the correct exterior, _look_ the part, and people were more likely to forgive eccentricities. Not all of them, of course. But with expensive clothes and perfect makeup, he could pass for acceptable.

Now, without those defenses, he felt exposed. Weak.

He could, perhaps, find some sort of gym. Lift a weight or two. He’d gone through so many changes recently. What was one more?

 

There was precisely one gym in his budget and on the same bus route as the mall. When his harrowing trial of a shift at the Cinnabon in the middle of the worst place in Thedas was over, he went to the YMAA, tired and not optimistic in the least.

In Tevinter, the Young Men’s Andrastrian Association was generally seen as a low-class country club. They hosted luncheons, organized bake sales, did small-scale philanthropy. An activity for Alti of a more pious bent to list on a resume, not really Dorian’s thing. In Ferelden, it seemed to tend more toward community center. For only thirty sovereigns a month, Dorian had access to a pool, a weight room, child care services, even a community board where people posted want-ads for apartments and odd jobs.

The whole building smelled of chlorine, and he signed the contract and code of conduct the cheery elven woman behind the desk printed out on a wheezing old copy machine. Thanking her for her help, he bought a two-sovereign padlock for a locker, and hunted down the weight room. He could hear a child having a screaming tantrum the whole time. 

He headed for a machine on the farthest side of the room. He should sit on the bench part of it, he thought, and pull the bar down? But should he pull it in front of his torso or behind his shoulders? He considered it carefully.

The door opened. The Maker must truly hate him.

The horns were unmistakable, even if Dorian hadn’t recognized the scar on his upper arm-- his arm, of all things!-- first. 

The Iron Bull sauntered right towards him, an infuriating grin on his face. “Come here often?” he asked. His shirt had a logo for the “National Nug Day Marathon,” complete with cartoon rodent. It pulled at his chest when he crossed his arms and at his stomach when he leaned against the machine next to him. Dorian was incensed. 

“No, actually.” He turned back to the machine.

“Want some help?”

“Do I _look_ clueless?” he asked.

“Maybe a little. It’s a good look, though.”

“Well, I’m not.” Dorian squared his shoulders. He didn’t let himself respond to the open invitation in Bull’s tone.

Nevertheless, Bull kept standing there. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine,” Dorian said awkwardly. “Busy. Yourself?”

“Actually.” Bull stepped closer. “I’d been starting to wonder if it was too late to call you. See if you wanted to do lunch sometime.”

Bull’s smile was tempting. Far _too_ tempting. Something was sure to go horribly wrong if Dorian didn’t nip this in the bud. What if he-- he really shouldn’t entertain the idea at all.

“I really am very busy,” he said. Bull moved back a bit as he said it, and Dorian felt both relieved and a little guilty. “Not that I didn’t have a wonderful time--”

“No sweat,” Bull said easily. “I get it. You’ve got my number if you change your mind.”

Dorian chewed his lip regretfully.

“No hard feelings, really.” Bull smiled at him, and he didn’t _seem_ upset. “Look, I can even show you how to use that machine, if you want.”

“Oh.” Dorian’s pride puffed back up. He squared his shoulders. “Thank you for the offer, but no thank you.”

“Alright, alright.” Bull made a placating gesture, and retreated, grinning. 

Dorian scowled at the machine for all of a minute, while Bull lifted weights, or whatever it was he was doing on the other side of the room. It required rather a lot of grunting. 

He raised his chin and stalked toward the mirror. “Fine,” he growled.

“Thought you didn’t need any help.”

Dorian scowled harder. “I don’t.”

“Then why’re you over here?” Bull’s smile turned just slightly sly.

Maker, he was going to make Dorian grovel, wasn’t he? “I would, perhaps, appreciate some pointers. Not _help_ ,” he said quickly as Bull opened his mouth, “I’m perfectly capable, just…”

“You want some advice,” Bull offered. “Assistance.”

“Yes,” he said, not very graciously.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got.” Bull sounded entirely comfortable, and Dorian thought that was utterly unfair. Meeting a one-night stand in broad daylight should be embarrassing for both of them.

The Iron Bull knelt down to fiddle with the machine, and Dorian did his best not to ogle him.

“It’s alright to be nervous, you know.” Bull’s tone was perfectly conversational. “Everyone’s a little nervous their first time.”

Dorian sputtered. “It’s not my-- I’m not nervous!”

“Mhm,” said the Iron Bull. “‘Course not.”

“Do you do _this_ often?” Dorian asked, in a truly awful attempt to change the subject. Bull probably had a very dim view of Dorian’s vocabulary. “Take time out of your day to advise other people’s weight-lifting routines?”

The Iron Bull stood up. “Pretty often. I like to make sure everyone’s staying safe.” He was _still_ smiling. Dorian didn’t know what he found so amusing. “Staying hydrated, not lifting too much, that sort of thing.”

“Was I in danger of that, then?”

“Well, I was the last person on this machine, so, yeah.”

Dorian surveyed his arms more openly this time. “Yes,” he allowed. “I suppose you might lift more than I can.”

“You’d probably hurt yourself trying, and that would be a shame.” The Iron Bull might have thought his flexing was subtle. Then again, he might not have cared.

“So do you just lurk about, looking for potential injuries to divert?” he asked, because he didn’t want to seem ungrateful, if he really was in danger of hurting himself on the… whatever it was called.

He was in no way affected by the way the Iron Bull chuckled. “I guess I do. I’m a volunteer pea-tea here.”

“A what?”

“A PT? Personal trainer?”

Dorian felt his cheeks heating. “Oh, of course.” He cleared his throat. “But I thought-- I mean, is that really a volunteer position?”

The Iron Bull shrugged. “Here it is. I mean, I do other stuff around, but I like knowing that the machines are being used properly. Like a lifeguard.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” Dorian did, however, follow the shifting of his shoulders under his shirt.

The Iron Bull smiled down at him. “Just because membership’s cheap doesn’t mean medical bills are. They hire lifeguards for the pool because even experienced swimmers can screw up and need help. I hang out in here when I’m not doing lost and found sweeps or vacuuming the locker rooms because there’s always someone who’s going to just sit down at a machine they don’t understand.”

Dorian felt his cheeks heating, and lifted his chin to counteract the embarrassment. “You have such a low opinion of everyone who comes in here, then?”

“Nah, I just have training in how not to dislocate shoulders or tear tendons.” He tapped the machine. “I can give you some professional pointers, if you want.”

Dorian hesitated. 

“Free of charge, really,” Bull said earnestly. “I make my money over at Thedas Fitness, uptown.”

“You really just do this for fun?” Dorian asked. “How bizarre.”

“It is fun,” the Iron Bull said. He grinned toothily. “Good as sex, if you do it right. After a really good workout, I feel like I could fight a dragon.”

Dorian grimaced to stop himself from smiling. “I guess there must be something out there for everyone. I’m just here as a means to an end.”

“This machine’s for arms and shoulders,” said Bull, like he hadn’t given Dorian _ideas_. “Are you wanting general fitness, bodybuilding, change in appearance?”

“I’m quite pleased with my appearance in general, actually.” He talked over whatever the Iron Bull was about to say, whether it was agreement or not. “I’m-- well, in a nutshell, I’d like to be stronger.”

“Fair enough,” the Iron Bull grinned, and Dorian wasn’t above basking in his approval. It had been a while since he was in the position to _have_ the approval of an attractive man. “Do you want me to guide you through a few reps?”

“Fine,” Dorian huffed. “If it’ll make you happy.”

Bull smiled, and Dorian’s chest constricted uncomfortably. “It will.”

And so, Dorian spent an hour doing more exercise than he’d thought he could. He learned the mysterious machine he’d first approached was called a “lat pulldown,” and that Bull thought he should stick to the less equipment-heavy routines. Stretches, squats, deadlifts, _pushups_.

The pushups came at very end, and were humiliating. All nine of them. The Iron Bull was very nice about it. Dorian could see why people paid him to encourage them. Regardless, he was red-faced, sweating, and sure he had lost any chance of seeming attractive to Bull.

Bull helped him to his feet and handed him his water bottle and a towel. Dorian had always thought people brought towels to the gym for vanity or hygiene. No, it was so they could hide their gross, sweaty faces and not look at tall men who only sweated in unfairly attractive ways.

“You did good,” Bull told him, and clapped him on the shoulder. His tired, overworked, _aching_ shoulder. Dorian would have much prefered a congratulatory ass-slap.

Dorian groaned. “This is supposed to be fun?”

“Keep it up; three times a week, and you’ll start seeing improvement. Not right away,” he cautioned, “but it’ll get easier.”

“I don’t believe you,” Dorian said. He didn’t whine.

The Iron Bull laughed. “Take it easy tomorrow, okay? You’ll be sore.” He winked. It worked, somehow, but Dorian rolled his eyes at him anyway and pretended it hadn’t.

“I imagine you have that effect on people,” he mumbled into his towel. This really wasn’t fair.

 

Dorian really did do his best to get the YMAA at least twice a week. It was easiest on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when he knew that Bull would be there. He was an excellent cheerleader, which he claimed made up the bulk of professional personal training.

“It mostly gives people a sense of accountability,” he told Dorian late on a Thursday evening as they walked slowly through the chlorinated, slightly dingy halls. “They feel like they should get their money’s worth, or that letting me down is worse than not sticking to their goals for themselves.”

“Your disappointed face must be a terror to behold.” 

Bull laughed, and held a door open for Dorian. 

They circled the pool, and looked in on the event rooms. There had been a birthday party in one earlier, and some of the crepe paper streamers were still trailing from the ceiling. Dorian fetched one of the gigantic rolling trash cans as Bull pulled them down.

“The trash can was right outside the door!” he griped. “And someone managed to put other bits of streamers and wrapping paper in here. How hard would it be to pick up the entire mess they left behind?”

“Ah, it’s not so bad,” Bull said. He seemed to like playing the unruffled foil to Dorian’s retail-worker frustration. Anything and everything that Dorian found to complain about was met with reason and calm. It would have been infuriating had it been anyone else. Dorian wasn’t sure if it was Bull’s easy-going nature or his own crush that softened the edge.

“Not so bad?” he asked. “You aren’t even being paid for this!”

“Neither are you,” Bull pointed out. “You’re actually paying to be here.”

“I’m waiting for my bus,” Dorian corrected, which was technically true, “and keeping a friend company. By the way, how’s your leg?” An inept deflection, but preferable to addressing whether or not Bull actually considered Dorian his friend as well.

Bull grunted, and led the way down the hall toward the locker rooms. “It’s not so bad, thanks for asking. And I do this for fun.”

“I could say something about your idea of fun,” Dorian sniffed, “or I could keep telling _you_ that I appreciate the help you’ve given me, and I like to repay favors where I can. I once drew up five different projection graphs apiece for four different equations because my advisor said they might be useful.”

“Were they?” Bull looked suitably impressed.

“Eight were,” Dorian said proudly, because it really had been an accomplishment. Alexius had used all of them in his classes for years afterwards. He might not have stopped, come to think of it.

“Hey, uh, I’ve been wondering,” Bull began, as he picked up a duffel bag that had been forgotten in an unlocked locker. 

“Why I’m working double shifts at a sugary hell in the Frostback Mall if I have a doctorate in obscure physics?”

“Oh,” said Bull. “Yeah, sure, I guess. Now that you mention it.”

Dorian considered the empty locker room, his fingernails, and then Bull’s face. “How trite would it be to say that it’s a long story?”

“A little cliche, maybe.” He flipped off the lights and followed Dorian back towards the main door. “Wanna tell it over drinks?”

Dorian hesitated.

“It’s Thirsty Thursday at a bar my friend Skinner works at. Half-price drinks,” Bull wheedled. “And you can meet some of my boys from Thedas Fitness.”

“The elusive Cremisius?” Dorian teased. “You keep saying he’s here sometimes, but I’ve never seen him.”

“You keep missing him.”

“Hm.” Dorian crossed his arms. “You might just be making him up.”

“He says the same thing about you,” Bull laughed. “So you should come, right?”

It was hardly Bull’s first friendly overture, but Dorian was self aware enough to recognize that he wished Bull’s overtures were a little _more_ friendly. But ever since the first time Dorian had turned him down, Bull had been nothing but professional. 

And being invited to meet Bull’s other friends-- well, it just made everything worse, didn’t it? 

Regardless, he almost said yes. “I’d love to, but it’s really not in my budget this week. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Bull looked disappointed. “Maybe next time.”

 

Dorian struggled to open the YMAA door one-handed, and regretted his bright idea. He had a bag with his work polo and his workout clothes over one shoulder, and under the other arm he held a box roughly the size of a nug. It oozed a faint smell of syrup and sugar, the same smell that clung to his hair, even on his days off.

The plan had been: bring Bull cinnamon rolls, as a friendly and not at all strange, not at all romantic, gesture. The current flaws were: the door, the looks he’d garnered on the bus over, and the fact that he had no idea if Bull even _liked_ cinnamon rolls.

He managed to wedge the door open with his foot, and shifted to hold the box more securely. If he turned just so, he could use his elbow as leverage--

The door swung inward, and Dorian stumbled directly into Bull’s chest.

“Hello,” Bull said, catching Dorian by the elbow. “Saw you were having some trouble there.”

“I would have gotten it open eventually,” Dorian muttered. Today Bull’s shirt was dark green, and very soft. He stepped back quickly. “But, thank you. I suppose.”

“No problem.” Bull seemed, as ever, unbothered by Dorian’s lack of grace. “You taking that to the locker room?”

Dorian nodded.

“Want me to deal with the rest of the doors for you?” Bull offered. He didn’t try to take Dorian’s box of ill-advised cinnamon rolls, which was a relief.

“Yes,” Dorian said. “Please,” he added, because being desperately attracted to one’s friend with no hope of resolution was no reason to forget one’s manners.

“Great!” Bull said, and fell into step close beside him. Dorian waited, dreading the inevitable question: what exactly was he doing with a cardboard box half the size of his own torso?

“How’ve you been?” Bull asked.

Dorian stumbled over his words, completely blindsided by the question. “Fine,” he managed.

Bull prompted a few more incomplete sentences from him as they made their way through the building. He made encouraging noises whenever Dorian stopped talking, as if listening to Dorian ramble about impatient customers and the horrors of opening on a Saturday was actually interesting. He even laughed at one point, though Dorian couldn’t think of a single amusing thing he’d said.

“And I brought some cinnamon rolls from work because one of our newest hires is the perfect mix of dependable and thoughtless. He started a full batch ten minutes before closing and it seemed wasteful to just throw them out,” Dorian explained. He contemplated the best way to shove the box into his locker. “I get some for Sera every so often, because she has a trash compactor for a stomach or _something_. I’ve seen her eat seventeen rolls in a sitting. I counted. And she asked for more!”

“Seventeen? Impressive.” Bull leaned on the locker next to Dorian. “I can manage eight on a good day.”

“I wish you both the joy of them,” Dorian said. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to eat one again. I nearly burned my hand on molten sugar yesterday. And the smell just… lingers.”

Bull snorted.

It was now or never. “Do you want one?” Dorian offered. “I have plenty, after all.”

The sparkle in Bull’s eye was offensively cute. “Really?” he asked. “Hell yeah!”

“They’re really only good when they’re warmed up--”

“There’s a microwave in the staff breakroom,” Bull said, already heading towards the door. “There’s not much happening today, so I don’t know if anyone will even be there.”

Dorian dropped his bag in the locker and followed. He wasn’t so committed to his workout that he’d pass up a chance like this.

Bull lead him up a flight of stairs and down a hallway that looked like every other hallway in the building. “Technically,” he murmured, “you’re not supposed to be in here. But you can bribe anyone with a cinnamon roll, especially the Boss. Cadash has an even bigger sweet tooth than I do.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dorian answered in an equally conspiratorial tone.

At the mall, Dorian’s coworkers shared a dingy array of metal chairs in a room next to the loading docks at the end of the building farthest away from their kiosk. It had two decrepit vending machines and was decorated with workplace safety posters and information on how to identify shoplifters.

The YMAA breakroom had clearly been designed by someone who actually cared about people. Bull took the box of cinnamon rolls from Dorian and told him to sit down on one of the four (four!) couches. He chose the one closest to the window, not because it looked least grimy, but because it looked most comfortable. 

There were “Volunteer of the Month” plaques on the wall across from him, and he was interested to see that Bull had achieved that honor four times in the last year. On another wall were an array of paintings that must have been done by children. They depicted everything from lopsided flowers and not-quite-correct rainbows to recognizable portraits of families and friends. Bull’s familiar horns were featured often. Dorian tried not to imagine Bull charming kindergarteners and befriending toddlers, and failed utterly.

To distract himself from that, he leafed through a magazine, listening as Bull hunted in a set of cabinets, emerging with a stack of paper plates. There was an entire kitchenette in the room, with a sink and refrigerator. Perhaps once Dorian would have turned his nose up at it, but he couldn’t help but find the room charming. More than that, he was a little ashamed at how he would have reacted in the past.

There was a photo album on the table under the magazine, with a picture of the YMAA building pasted to the front. Dorian had been called worse things than “nosy,” so he opened it.

“That’s the Boss,” Bull said-- Dorian hadn’t noticed him approach. He pointed to a stocky dwarf in the center of the photograph Dorian was looking at. “They’re the one who got this place up and running. Don’t know if it would have worked without them.”

“You admire them a great deal.” That much was obvious from Bull’s tone. Dorian refused to be jealous. It was hardly his place.

Bull shrugged and put down his plate of cinnamon rolls on the low coffee table. “They’re just one of those people that you can’t help it. Sees something that needs doing and does it, y’know. Even if it looks sort of impossible.”

Dorian nodded.

“Their wife helps a lot, of course.” He tapped the person in the picture next to them. “Cadash is a one-person army, and Josie’s the supply lines, munitions factory, and home front propaganda machine all rolled into one.”

Dorian couldn’t help but laugh. “What a metaphor.”

Bull puffed out his chest. “And I’m the 007 to Josie’s M.”

“How so?”

“Babysitter,” Bull said seriously. “Dangerous and sensitive detail. Lots of subterfuge and bribery needed to get their little ones to bed on time.”

“I can imagine.” Dorian smirked. 

“Hey, uh.” Bull sat on the couch next to Dorian, a perfectly respectable distance away. His knee didn’t even brush Dorian’s thigh as he tucked one leg under him. “I know you said you didn’t want any of these, but I heated one up for you? Doesn’t seem fair to eat by myself.”

Dorian glanced at the plate of cinnamon rolls and barely contained his reaction at the thought of actually eating one. “Go ahead and take them all,” he told Bull. “I’d rather they be eaten by someone who really enjoys them.”

Bull demurred a moment longer, holding out a plastic fork to Dorian. “You’re sure?” He wheedled.

Dorian huffed, but he took the fork and replaced it with the plate. “I’ll eat _one_ bite, if it’ll make you feel better. Just one!” he cautioned in response to the grin that spread across Bull’s face.

It tasted like it always tasted, like too much sugar in one bite and slightly artificial cinnamon, but it was worth it to be with Bull. Dorian hadn’t met many people who were so honest in their enjoyment. He was used to downplaying his reactions and maintaining distance, even among friends. It seemed too easy to just sit on a old couch together and eat pure sugar, but here he was, happy. If only he could get the idea of kissing Bull out of his head.

 

Four Tuesdays later, Dorian surveyed himself critically in the tall mirror by the door to the locker room showers. He _felt_ different, but did he _look_ different? 

He toweled his hair some more, and turned to examine his ass. It was late, he was alone, his ass had always been one of his proudest achievements.

“Sorry,” said a familiar voice, “I didn’t think anyone was still in here.”

Dorian spun around, cheeks burning, to face Bull.

He pretended he wasn’t clutching his towel to his chest like a startled Tethras heroine and asked, in a reasonably steady voice, “how long have you been there?

“Not long.” 

“Too long,” Dorian countered.

Bull shrugged. “Wasn’t doing anything you weren’t.”

“I was assessing my improvement.” He sounded haughty and defensive, even to himself. “I’ve been-- why are you laughing at me?”

“ _Ass_ -essing, huh?” 

“No, I was--” Dorian couldn’t help but smile too. He felt alarmingly… fond. He cleared his throat. “I feel like I’ve made progress, is all. I could definitely fight at least three nugs now.”

“Definitely.” Bull took a step closer. Dorian was reminded, as he often was, of the feeling of Bull’s lips against his throat, his hands on the soft skin of Bull’s back. 

Dorian went to his locker. It would be a good idea to wear clothes.

“You up for drinks tonight?” Bull had followed him. “Or pizza? Celebratory pizza’s the best kind.”

“I--”

Bull read his expression quickly. “Money again? I’ll treat you.”

“I wouldn’t want to make anyone jealous,” Dorian demurred, focusing on the buttons of his shirt.

“Actually,” Bull said, “I haven’t checked, but I’m pretty sure everyone else is busy.”

“Just the two of us then.” He glanced back over his shoulder. 

Bull leaned on the lockers, close but not very close. “Yeah. If you have time.” He cleared his throat. “If you want to.”

“That sounds…” nice. Fun, even. It was very tempting. 

“You don’t have to.”

Dorian turned around and faced him fully. “I do want to,” he told Bull, taking a step towards him to close the distance. 

They looked at each other.

“But--” Dorian took a deep breath. This wasn’t fair to Bull. “You should know that I’m-- I have this awful habit of _wanting_ too many things, and I know that you’re just a terribly friendly person but--”

“Hold up,” Bull said. “I think there was a miscommunication.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Dorian continued, committed to this extremely awful course of action. “I don’t want to put pressure on you just because I have a stupid crush and you’re too nice to tell me to fuck off--”

Bull put a hand on Dorian’s wrist, which made Dorian realize he’d been staring hard at the wall next to Bull’s shoulder and not actually looking at his face. When he met Bull’s eye, he was utterly floored to see that he was smiling.

“I don’t want to tell you to fuck off, Dorian.” 

“But you need to know that you _can_ ,” Dorian protested.

“Okay,” Bull said easily. “I know that. You can tell me to fuck off too, if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Dorian nodded. That was fair.

“Like, for instance, if I said I’ve been trying to ask you out for three months and I really want to kiss you, would that make you uncomfortable?”

“Oh.” He stared at Bull. Bull smiled back. “Am I an idiot?”

“Probably not.” Bull finally stepped into Dorian’s space. The whole room felt much smaller all of a sudden. “You wanna?”

Dorian felt his pulse pick up slightly as Bull grinned down at him. “Want to what?” he asked. If his voice was a little breathy, it was only because it was so warm in the room.

“Well. Dinner, for a start.” Bull leaned a little closer. “I pay, I drive you home after, and if you want, you can give me a goodnight kiss. You give really _good_ goodnight kisses, you know.”

It was entirely unfair of Bull to have such a nice smile. Dorian moved towards him. “I seem to recall that you’re not half-bad yourself,” he murmured.

“Oh yeah?”

Dorian wrapped a hand around of Bull’s horns and tugged him down into a kiss. It was better than he remembered. Bull’s hand on the back of his neck, the warmth of his chest against Dorian’s-- Dorian felt encompassed, but not small. It was easy to sink into that feeling, of being alone together, suddenly allowed to ask for just about anything he wanted.

“So,” Bull said, still smiling. “You want to get out of here?”

Dorian kissed him again. “Absolutely.”

 

Bull’s car was comfortable, and Dorian found himself relishing the ability to stretch legs out without getting stepped on almost as much as Bull’s company. He never wanted to set foot on another city bus for the rest of his life. The ability to adjust the heat in the car was a luxury he’d forgotten as well.

Bull humored him as he fiddled with the radio and the height of his window, chatting happily about his day. Dorian listened. He wasn’t suddenly nervous about going back to Bull’s apartment and reprising the best sex he’d had in the past eight months, but his life had taken a rather abrupt shift this evening. It wasn’t every day he was catapulted from “hopeless crush on his friend” to-- whatever this could be called. Dating? Was a one night stand and one kiss in a YMAA locker room a few months later dating?

The car stopped.

Dorian didn’t recognize the area they were parked in, but it was dark outside, and it had been dark the last (the first) time he’d gone to Bull’s apartment as well. The street itself was well-lit, people wandering past shops and restaurants in coats that Dorian personally thought were far too light for the frigid weather.

Bull got out of the car and circled around the passenger side, opening Dorian’s door before he quite realized what was happening. Cautiously, Dorian stepped out onto the sidewalk, and Bull met his questioning look with a sunny smile. He closed the door, and took Dorian’s hand.

Dorian couldn’t help it, he glanced around at the people around them, chest suddenly tight. But no one so much as glanced at them. A couple-- two women-- strolled by, hand in hand as well. Dorian raised his chin and squeezed Bull’s fingers. “Which way?”

“Right here, actually.” Bull indicated a door a few feet away.

“That’s _Il Corvo_ ,” Dorian told him. “Not your apartment.”

Bull looked at him. “Yeah. I was serious about dinner, you know that, right?”

Intellectually, yes. “I’ve seen them praised by food critics in _Tevinter_ ,” Dorian protested.

“Their food is really good.” Bull took a step forward. “My treat.”

He was in too deep already, he knew that. He pressed himself up against Bull’s side. “As long as it’s warm inside.”

Bull held the door open for him again, because he was clearly on a mission to reduce Dorian to a pile of syrup and fuzzy feelings.

The restaurant wasn’t overly full, since it was about seven on a Tuesday. They were seated quickly, at a small table near the kitchen doors with a soft linen tablecloth and a candle. Dorian was relieved that Bull didn’t pull out his chair for him, unsure whether he could stand that much gentlemanly behavior without saying anything truly regrettable. He had enough self control to wait until they were in private before telling Bull exactly what idea that sort of behavior gave him. And, more than that, he had time.

Still, Dorian let his foot brush Bull’s ankle under the table, keeping his eyes on the menu. “The lamb looks good,” he commented, as innocent as he could manage. “And we could split the crab empanadas to start?”

“I’m vegetarian, actually.” Bull did casual much better, though Dorian felt his cheeks flush. He should have thought to ask. “Tapas is a great idea, though. They have some killer spinach croquetas.”

“You’ve been here before?” Dorian asked as a waiter stopped at their table with glasses of water.

“The Iron Bull!” she said over Bull’s affirmation. Dorian watched her polite smile turn genuine. “I’m glad to see you’ve brought someone your own age tonight.”

Dorian choked on his water.

“Cadash and Josie’s kids,” Bull said quickly. “I bring them here sometimes when I’m babysitting.”

“How old are these children?” Dorian asked, looking around at the low lighting, well-dressed couples and champagne flutes on tables.

“Six and nine.” Bull shrugged. “The fries here are the best.”

“Papas fritas,” the waitress corrected, and Bull grinned at her. She turned to Dorian, all business. “If you want the lamb, I suggest the Ayesleigh red as a pairing.”

Dorian glanced at Bull. “I’m still deciding, actually, but Bull suggested the croquetas?”

He felt like he’d passed some sort of test when they both smiled at him. “And two glasses of the Ayesleigh, please, Sofia.”

“So let me make sure I’ve got this right,” Dorian said. “You spend your days off doing your paid job for free, and taking children to five-star Antivan restaurants. That’s what you do for fun.”

“Hey! The boys and I play ultimate frisbee in the park on weekends! And I take the kids to museums, too.” Bull winked. "Also fun? Looking at your ass while you do squats.”

“Well that’s just good taste,” Dorian said, pleased. “My form’s gotten better, have you noticed?”

“I did notice!” Bull’s enthusiasm was flattering, and honest. Dorian preened.

Sofia returned with their wine, and listened indulgently when Bull told her about Dorian’s progress in the gym. Dorian hid from her knowing smirk by sipping his wine, but the praise made him blush.

“Why have you taken so long to bring your boyfriend here?” she asked, just to torture Dorian.

Bull laughed. “It’s taken me this long to actually ask him out. Don’t scare him off, okay?”

“Hmm.” Sofia squinted at Dorian. “Fine. For now.”

“I think I will have the lamb after all,” Dorian said, to prove that he wasn’t intimidated.

“And my usual,” Bull added, taking Dorian’s menu and handing it to Sofia’s. He’d never even opened his.

Dorian took a second, smaller sip of his wine. “You don’t have to let people think that we’re--”

“Dorian,” Bull said seriously. “Do I look like I don’t want people to think we’re dating?”

“What?” Dorian asked.

“I mean, that is what I want people to think, because I want it to be true. I didn’t really want our first night to be a one-time thing and I _really_ don’t want tonight to be, either.” He took Dorian’s hand across the table, face earnest.

“Oh,” Dorian said. “Good, then.”

“Good,” Bull agreed.

“So when I get up to powder my nose, I can call Felix and tell him I’ve finally got a boyfriend?” Dorian asked.

“Only if you tell me a little bit about him, first,” Bull said.

For once, Dorian was actually happy to talk about Tevinter. 

 

He slept well, that night, head pillowed on Bull’s arm. He didn’t wake up until his alarm went off at seven, and that was all right, since he didn’t have to work until the afternoon.

Bull grunted as Dorian rolled over to turn it off, and wrapped his arm tighter around Dorian’s waist. “Y’don’t have to go, do you?”

“No,” Dorian murmured, still half asleep. “I’m staying here where it’s warm, if that’s quite alright with you.”

Bull buried his face in the side of Dorian’s neck as an answer. But Dorian was waking up quickly now. Bull’s mouth was moving slightly against his skin in some sort of protest against the morning, making him shiver.

Dorian shuffled until he was facing Bull and stroked his hands from Bull’s stomach up across his chest. He kept his touch light and teasing, circling Bull’s nipples without touch, and pressing very gently on the hickey he’d left on Bull’s collarbone. Aside from a small twitch of Bull’s mouth and a tightening of the hand on his hip, he garnered no response.

He slid his leg over Bull’s until he lay half on top of him. He’d be straddling Bull’s thigh if he sat up, but he pressed against Bull’s warm body instead. Neither of them had bothered putting any sort of clothes on before they fell asleep, and he could feel Bull getting hard against his leg, but his eye stayed stubbornly closed.

He leaned over Bull for a long moment, admiring the curve of his lips and the lines on his face. Just when Bull’s eye fluttered, like he might be about to open it, Dorian kissed him.

It was slow and deep, and he pressed Bull down into the mattress with his whole body. He couldn’t really pin him down, but he liked the feeling that maybe he could.

Bull finally moved, bringing hands up to hold Dorian’s face, but Dorian didn’t let him take control this time. He moved at his own pace, and when he pulled back, he kept one hand on Bull’s shoulder.

“Morning,” Bull said, voice still scratchy. 

Dorian looked down at him imperiously. Maybe. He was probably smiling too widely. “Care to help me make it better?”

Bull laughed and rolled them over, pinning Dorian much more effectively. He stroked Dorian’s back with one hand, as light as Dorian had touched him. “Looks pretty good from where I am,” he murmured. He kissed Dorian again. “You lay back and let me make you feel good.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Dorian said, and tried his hardest to squirm out from under Bull.

It didn’t really work, but Dorian wound up more or less on top, laughing breathlessly. He leaned on Bull’s shoulders and tossed his head to get his hair out of his eyes. “ _You_ lay back,” he said, and leaned down to mouth at the side of Bull’s neck.

Bull’s laughter became a moan as Dorian pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to his chest, sliding one hand down between their bodies to touch Bull’s cock. He didn’t tease, exactly, but he kept his hand steady and slow as he worked his way along Bull’s chest stomach, finally kneeling between his legs.

Bull didn’t lay back, but he kept his hands to himself, propped up on his elbows and one of his many pillows so he could see Dorian. Dorian made sure it was a good view, even though his mustache was a fright and what was left of his eyeliner was… better off not thought about.

Instead, he thought about the ways Bull liked to be touched-- firm on the shaft of his cock, light at the tip, how he moaned when Dorian curled his fingers in the hair at the base, the difference in pitch when Dorian leaned in to swallow his cock.

Dorian had plenty of experience, and plenty of tricks up his sleeve, but there was something about how the shades were down and the room was still dark, how Bull murmured his name, that made just this seem like enough. There wasn’t any rush, nothing hanging over them.

Bull reached down to touch the side of Dorian’s face, and he looked up to meet his eye. He let Bull help him move back up the bed, and pull him into another long, deep kiss. Bull reached down and worked both of their cocks together until Dorian was panting against his mouth.

He came quietly, Bull not far behind. Dorian pulled the blanket back up around his shoulders, and wrapped his arms around Bull’s chest. He could shower later. They could eat later. Everything could wait. 

He listened to Bull’s heartbeat as it slowed, not resisting as he was lulled back to sleep.


End file.
